“He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever he does prospers.”
— Psalm 1:3

There are moments I find myself whispering, “God, where are You?” The same lips that once declared His nearness now tremble in the silence of the storm. I look around and see waves, and I wonder why His hand seems so far away.

But then, like light cutting through the clouds, I remember: there’s nothing wasted at the altar.

Every tear, every breath of confusion, every quiet prayer that feels unanswered, it all lays there, holy before Him. He wastes nothing that’s surrendered.

I bring Him the mess, the fear, the ache of waiting. I bring the heart that doesn’t understand, the body that feels weak, the faith that feels like flickering embers instead of fire. And still, He meets me.

He reminds me that I am planted by the river. I may not see the fruit yet, but the roots are drinking deeply of His Word. Even when I feel dry, He is doing something underneath. Even when I feel far, His presence has not left me, it’s simply working beneath the surface.

So today, I come again to the altar—not because I have it together, but because I don’t
Because I know that everything I am, He can fix.
Because nothing, just nothing is wasted when it’s laid down before Him.

Love
V.L